


You

by Little Spoon (JaydenNara)



Series: Occasionally Domestic [25]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Breeding Kink, College Student Stiles, Depressed Stiles, Depression, Derek Hale Has Chest Hair, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Mating, Mating Bond, Nudity, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shifted Sex, Worried Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 19:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13577640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenNara/pseuds/Little%20Spoon
Summary: Stiles was an asshole, but that's fine. Derek is too. That's why they work.Okay, so Stiles had promised to tell his Dad and Scott when he and Derek decided to take the ultimate next step since neither of them had been clued into the whole 'I'm dating Derek Hale' thing, but really, it's kinda like an elopement. Right?--(aka Failure to Knot)





	You

The first time Stiles and Derek attempted to complete the werewolf mate bond, it fizzled. Failure to knot. Derek couldn’t pop and lock it. 

Stiles’ brain had kept supplying endless puns while he lay on his back staring at the ceiling frustrated, sore, and more than a little disappointed after they had spent weeks prepping him to receive a fully inflated knot. The process had been a study of frustration and anticipation that often ended with Derek losing control and drilling Stiles into the mattress until he couldn’t do much more than sob Derek’s name in desperation. But it was all for knot. 

The crux of the matter was their mating remained unsolidified, and despite Derek’s assurances that no knot wasn’t a reflection of them or their relationship, Stiles still couldn’t help the sharp sting of rejection each time they failed felt like they were knot to be. The universe had given them a sign; outright screamed they were not mates no matter how fiercely they wanted to be.

“It’s not a mystical bond. There is no one perfect match,” Derek said after failure number three. He snagged Stiles around the waist and hauled him up off the bed where he was curled into a ball to straddle his lap. “A bond is built on trust.”

Stiles resolutely stared down at their naked laps. They hadn’t cleaned up yet, and their mutual mess was smeared across Stiles’ belly and down his thighs. The hairs of Derek’s fuzzy treasure trail were soft. He played with the strands, curling them around his fingertips. Derek shivered under him and ran his hands up Stiles’ sides until he cupped Stiles’ cheek and tilted his head back to meet Derek’s gaze.

Derek’s eyes were crinkled in the corner, and his brow deeply furrowed. Derek Hale eyebrow position thirty-one point two - read as: worried, upset, and in need of comfort, but trying to hold it together because he was more concerned for Stiles.

“Fuck.” Stiles dropped his forehead against Derek’s shoulder to hide the moisture stinging his eyes, but strong arms cradled him like something precious and Derek’s lips brushed over his temple. Stupid werewolf could smell the salt.

“You’re it, Stiles. I choose you. My home. My anchor. My mate,” Derek murmured against his skin. Each breath sent a tingle down Stiles’ spine.

Stiles’ hiccuped and wiped away the evidence of his tears with the back of his arm as he sat back. “Shit, sourwolf,” he said with a watery grin. “That’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said to me, and that’s saying something since we both know you’re a giant ball of fluff.”

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes, but wordlessly ran his thumbs across Stiles’ cheekbones to erase any stray moisture.

“Still, it’s not a huge boost to my already non-existent confidence. I’m a 22-year old, soon-to-be newly graduated young man who’s ready to be in a magical committed, eternal type relationship with my chosen werewolf mate, and said would be mate can’t get it up for me,” Stiles laughed humorously.

Derek growled and snapped his teeth at Stiles. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah…” Stiles sighed. He swung off Derek’s lap and wandered off in the direction of the bathroom to clean up. “Sure.”

But two weeks later and no closer to completing the bond, Stiles lost hope. At first, he had called into work sick after attempt six, then he had stopped answering his phone after the ninth failure. It was after the eleventh, and latest failed attempt when Derek flopped down next to him, completely exhausted four days previously, that he had stopped getting out of bed entirely.

“Stiles? Baby, please,” Derek whispered as he slid into bed behind Stiles, but Stiles flinched when Derek’s bare chest made contact with his back. The werewolf whimpered and reared back. “Stiles…”

The mattress shifted as Derek’s weight left the bed. Clothing rustled as Derek dressed, but Stiles continued to stare blankly at the wall. The crushing weight of nothingness blanketed him like an impenetrable fog.

“Stiles?” Fully dressed, Derek crouched down next to the bed to meet Stiles’ eye-line. He raised a hand, momentarily hesitant before he gently brushed the mop of hair out of Stiles’ eyes. 

Stiles had grown it out over the last semester. Derek had seemed to like it a little shaggy. Something to grab when Stiles went down on him. 

“Hey…” Derek offered a weak smile. “I’m going to get you soup from the deli. You need to eat.”

Stiles blinked, dully observing the deepened creases of Derek’s forehead and the sallow cheeks.

“I’ll be back, okay?” Derek said, not really asking. He lay a lingering kiss at the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “I’ll be right back. Promise. We’ll figure this out.”

Derek’s footsteps retreated, pausing briefly at the curtained doorway of their makeshift bedroom, and then the front door of the loft opened and closed with a faint clunk. Stiles rolled onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes, and bit his bottom lip to distract himself from the tightness of his chest. His skin was too tight; brittle and ready to break.

Three and a half years they’d been together, and Derek had become his friend, his lover, his confident, and his anchor. Stiles graduated from Columbia in less than a week and his father and Scott were flying in for the ceremony in two days. The plan had been to surprise them with their mating. An elopement of sorts, despite promises to keep them apprised of their relationship.

Stiles couldn’t breathe. He picked up a pillow and smothered his animalistic scream, letting out his anger, frustration, and bitterness until his voice cracked and his limbs fell limp to his sides and tears silently slid down his cheeks, soaking into his hair and the dirty sheets.

A sharp pain shot through his chest. Stiles bolted upright in bed howling as he clutched his chest. The pain had already faded, but Stiles ran his hand over the unmarked skin as he surveyed their empty apartment. He wasn’t hurt because it wasn’t his pain.

“Derek…” Stiles scrambled out of bed and pulled on the nearest random articles of clothing laying around the bedroom; a pair of Derek’s boxers, one of each of their shoes which he could only tell because the left shoe pinched. Derek’s feet were a size smaller. 

In the past, Stiles would have laughed because it destroyed the absurd myth around big feet. Derek wasn’t only the biggest dick Stiles had ever had the pleasure of meeting, he also had the biggest - and only - dick he’d ever had the honour of sucking. But his only thoughts were for finding Derek, and finding him now.

Stiles tripped over an XBox controller on his way to the front door, still pulling on a random hoodie, no shirt. The elevator was too slow. Stiles took the stairs two at a time, leaping down the last six. He hit the ground at a dead run, bursting out the front door of the apartment building, and then froze in the middle of the sidewalk dressed in only boxers, mismatched shoes, and an open purple hoodie. He didn’t actually know where to go.

The deli for soup. That’s what Derek had said, but Stiles didn’t know where the deli was. He’d never been. It was a Polish deli that Derek went to when he wanted to pick up something special on the rare occasion Stiles was feeling down or stressed because it reminded him of his mother.

Stiles’ chest constricted. He couldn’t breathe, but at the same time, he couldn’t slow down. Each breath came too fast and his vision blurred around the edges. His knees buckled. He blindly groped until he caught the edge of a nearby parking meter for support.

Suddenly, Derek was there, filling his space, rubbing his back, holding him, encouraging him to breathe, to count, to speak. Stiles rested a hand over the blood-tinged hole in Derek’s purple v-neck. Derek’s heartbeat steadily under his hand, and the wound already healed.

“Oh god… I thought- I felt-” Stiles searched Derek’s open expression of fear and anxiety. It wasn’t only his own emotions he was feeling, and it was overwhelming. “You’re here.”

They’d never be able to prove who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing. A clash of desperate heat and reassurance. Derek hoisted Stiles up, Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist, and carried him inside. They never broke the fevered kiss, not even when they crashed into their apartment and collapsed on the couch together, but the frenzied need shifted into something softer and sweeter.

Derek stripped the hoodie off Stiles. It crashed into an empty coffee mug that fell off the end table and shattered on the hardwood floor as he tossed the hoodie aside. Stiles pulled back, ripping Derek’s ruined t-shirt up over his head, and ran his hands down Derek’s bare chest. There were flecks of blood caught in the curls of dark chest hair, but Derek was skin was perfect and unmarred.

“Teenager with a gun,” Derek said. Eyes glowing blue, he gently took Stiles hands in his and kissed his knuckles. “He stank of desperation and fear.”

“So you jumped in front of the bullet like a heroic moron,” Stiles croaked.

“Says the heroic idiot who jumped in front of a truck,” Derek retorted with a weak smile. Stiles had been unconscious for a day after saving a little girl from being hit. “At least I heal.”

Stiles pressed his palm to his own chest where he’d felt the bullet hit Derek while the werewolf watched him closely. “How?”

“I told you it wasn’t a mystical bond created through blood magic and bite marks,” Derek said running his hands down Stiles’ sides until they rested on Stiles’ hips. His thumbs dipped beneath the elastic waist of the borrowed boxer briefs. “A mate bond is built on trust, love, and intent. My parents didn’t-”

“Form a mateship until the night you were conceived,” Stiles interrupted. He squirmed in Derek’s lap, gnawing on his lower lip while he ran his fingers through Derek’s chest hair. He loved that his boyfriend– mate had stopped waxing, though he loved Derek any way he could have him. “It’s just, you know… your naughty bits didn’t get all knotty with my naughty bits.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You sound disappointed.”

A warm flushed heated Stiles’ cheeks, and he glanced down at his fingers tangled in Derek’s treasure trail. It was like deja vu. “Well, I mean, we did do all that prep, and I read that it’s supposed to be like, super erotic and pleasurable for all parties involved, and remember that time with the siren. You kept threatening to breed me and knot me, and then you told me that it was a mate thing, so it’s not like it’s fake, unless you’re just messing with me, which dude, that’s totally uncool. I’ll-”

Derek cut off Stiles’ rambling with a kiss. When they separated, Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’ and grinned wolfishly. “You really that hungry for my knot, baby?” he growled, and Stiles’ moaned.

“Shit. Oh fuck, yeah,” Stiles whimpered breathlessly. “I want it.”

“I… don’t know how,” Derek admitted. A dark flush crept up his neck to his ears. Stiles’ couldn’t get enough of the adorable bunny teeth peeking out between the parted lips or the cuteness of the embarrassed crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah… about that.” Stiles leaned back. “How is that possible? You’re the wolf guru. Scott’s yoda.”

“That was you,” Derek pointed out.

“Right, but-”

“I was too young.” Derek swallowed and glanced down at their hands as he laced their fingers together, running his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand. “My mother never had time to share some more intimate details of werewolf dynamics with me, and then after… it just wasn’t high on Laura’s list of priorities, or maybe she didn’t know, or-”

Stiles pressed a finger to Derek’s lips. “It’s okay. I get it.”

Silence hung heavy. The occasional honk of traffic drifted up from the street. 

Derek didn’t often talk about his family or the fire. He still had nightmares. Stiles had been privy to more than one, and even been pinned to the mattress, unable to move under a partially shifted, growling beta werewolf. But Stiles never wanted Derek to feel as though he had to talk about them when he wasn’t ready or willing. He couldn’t always willingly call up memories of his mother.

The stillness was broken by the hungry gurgle of Stiles’ stomach. Stiles smiled sheepishly at Derek as he lazily scratched his belly. “Guess I haven’t eaten much lately.”

“I’ll order takeout,” Derek said as he hefted Stiles up and swapped their places on the couch.

“Indian?” Stiles ventured and kicked off the mismatched shoes while Derek abandoned him in search of take-out menus in the kitchen.

“Thai?” Derek offered.

“Less bread, more veggies. Still spicy. I’ll take it.” Stiles stretched and cracked his back.

While Derek made the call, taking a little longer than usual, Stiles began to get restless. He settled into the couch by constructing a small roofless fort out of blankets and pillows for them to cuddle and eat in when the food arrived. Climbing into the mini den, Stiles idly rubbed the spot where he felt the bullet hit Derek and smiled to himself as he listened to the deep rumble of Derek on the phone in the kitchen behind him.

Stiles hummed quietly as he basked in the muted pulse of shared contentment. The suffocation of depression had dissipated, though reflected on, Stiles’ depressive state had been exacerbated by Derek’s own emotional limitation. Stiles frowned. They had both been completely unaware that the bond had already settled, but Derek had not been incapacitated by the distress and heartbreak of their apparent failure like Stiles had. Derek was too used to functioning under duress and trauma. And Stiles hated that. Derek should never be so used to disappointment and pain that he could brush it aside like a stray thought.

The apartment was quiet again. It took several seconds for Stiles to realize that Derek had ended his call. Twisting around on the couch, Stiles found Derek standing a few feet away. His eyes glowed blue in the dim light of the room.

“Der?” Stiles questioned softly.

Derek’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed audibly. “You built a nest.”

“I…” Stiles glanced around at the construction of piled pillows and blankets. It hadn’t really been a conscious thought beyond comfort. “Yeah, I guess.”

Stiles had no warning before Derek pounced and pinned him to the couch. His mouth was everywhere; nibbling and nipping at every piece of exposed skin while Stiles moaned and bucked against the much stronger werewolf. Derek’s hand tangled in his hair, wrenching his head back to expose his throat.

“God, Stiles. I want you,” Derek groaned. He buried his nose in Stiles’ neck and inhaled deeply.

Fangs dragged along Stiles’ throat, and Stiles mewled, stretching his neck further in full submission. A pleased growl rumbled in Derek’s chest.

“Need to hear it. Do you want this?” Derek asked, and Stiles whimpered. “Words, baby boy. I need to hear the words.”

“Yes,” Stiles moaned in a desperate elongated plead. His hips worked furiously as he rut against the hard plane of Derek’s body pressing him into the cushions. “Oh fuck yes. Please, Der.”

"Do you submit to me, mate?" Derek growled through his fangs.

Stiles shivered. "Always," he whimpered offered his neck without hesitation. 

The cotton boxer briefs were sliced from Stiles’ body with steady claws and a snarl that curled at the corner of Derek’s lips. His mates’ hands slipped under his backside to drag him down the couch until his back barely touched the cushions and his legs were thrown over Derek’s shoulders.

The warm wet of Derek’s mouth descended. Stiles clawed at the pillows and blankets hiding them, desperate to find something to ground him as Derek’s tongue delved deeper, coaxing sounds Stiles barely recognized as human out of him. Derek devoured Stiles whole until he was loose and sloppy; ready and eager; open and willing.

Stiles sobbed in relief as Derek sank into him. The familiar sensation of Derek’s cock breaching his hole anchored him, placing him in that moment, and connected him to his mate even as he struggled to suck down deep gulps of air.

Fully seated, Derek didn’t pause. He pulled out, only to abruptly snapped his hips forward in one fluid thrust. Stiles choked on a garbled scream of his mate’s name.

Their coupling was rough, fast, and wild, and Stiles craved every second of it. Derek had shifted into his beta-shift, but Stiles couldn’t focus on the disappearance of Derek’s eyebrows when the tips of his claws prickled Stiles’ hips, but they never broke the skin. Fangs teased his skin. The slightest pressure could break Stiles’ fragile human body, but despite the animalistic drive behind each thrust, Derek mouthed words of praise and adoration into his skin.

Derek pulled back, never slowing in the feverish pace of his well-placed thrusts, driving deep into Stiles as he knelt amidst the shelter of their crumbling nest. His eyes glowed steadily. The electric blue a beacon in the fog of Stiles’ sex-addled mind.

“Mate,” Derek growled and flashed his fangs, more wolf than human.

Stiles’ arched off the cushions, weakly pushing back against the powerful thrusts pining him in place. “Mine,” he whimpered, eyes locked with his mate.

“Beg me,” Derek snarled around his fangs.

Stiles cried out as a well-placed assault on his prostate sent a tremor through his body. “Knot me. Oh god, Der. Knot me. Breed me,” he rasped, even if they both knew impregnation was impossible. That wasn’t the point. “I need it. Please. I need it. I need it. Give it to me.”

There was a tug at Stiles’ stretched rim. Derek’s knot expanded rapidly, stretching Stiles wide until he could no longer move. Stiles writhed. His nails left long angry red lines that healed almost instantly on Derek’s arms and back as his mate pressed him into the cushions and ground the knot deeper.

It was too much. Stiles screamed. His body convulsed as short spurts of cum spilled between them, coating his belly, and Derek joined him cumming with a deep guttural howl. The heat of Derek’s cum filled him with thick bursts that never seemed to end. Stiles’ muscles spasmed; limbs loose. Lost in the blissed-out pleasure of Derek’s knot filling him, the second orgasm that ripped through him shocked him. He came from the pressure alone. His body literally spasmed out of his control. The sensation of fullness was more intense than he had ever felt before. Too intense, and he lost consciousness as Derek continued to growl against his throat and pump cum deep into his body.

When Stiles came to, they were tangled in an awkward position. They couldn’t move to cuddle or spoon because Derek had mounted him face to face, but while he was out, Derek had shifted them the best he could. 

Derek sat with his back against the arm of the couch with the backs of Stiles’ thighs against his chest and legs thrown up over his shoulders. Stiles was stretched out over the couch, a pillow under his head, and Derek still locked inside him. He squirmed in Derek’s lap, and the knot tugged at his hole making them both groan.

Stiles licked his lips, watching Derek watch him. The werewolf’s eyes were still glowing, but his features were human.

“So…” Stiles started. His body ached, but he was a good ache.

Derek broke their eye contact. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Dude, that was fucking awesome!” Stiles said. He tried to sit up, but the pull at his rim sent him crashing back down onto the couch with a whimper. “Fuck… so good.”

“Yeah?” Derek asked, shyly glancing down their bodies.

“Oh, hell yeah.” Stiles ran a reassuring hand up Derek’s calf. As strange as their positions were, it was oddly intimate. Derek gently ran his hands up and down Stiles’ thighs, soothing him while they basked in the afterglow. “But where did that come from? I mean, hot. You have no idea. Ten out of ten, we have to do again, but we’ve been trying for weeks, and all of a sudden?”

Derek coughed uncomfortably, and his hands on Stiles’ thighs stilled. “I uh, may have called Peter,” he admitted almost too quiet for Stiles’ human ears to hear.

“Oh my god.” Stiles propped himself up on his elbows and stared open-mouthed at his mate, ignoring the discomfort of the lacrosse ball sized knot shoved up his ass. “You really do love me.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can stalk me on Tumblr here: [Always the Little Spoon](http://always-the-little-spoon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
